Cobblestone
by acidfinn
Summary: Al had looked everywhere for that yellow chicken... [ short ] [ slight Ed x Win ]


**Cobblestone**

_When you're tired and alone_

_And you feel like letting go_

_Go home._

* * *

Cobblestone was for the wealthy. Especially amber cobblestone. Of this, Edward Elric was absolutely sure. In addition to this, Ed also knew that government officials were generally wealthy people, so naturally, most government buildings had long pathways made of amber cobblestone.

It worked out nicely, since the Elric brothers often found themselves in the company of said wealthy government officials and the older of the two brothers rather liked amber cobblestone. And so, Ed would lag uncharacteristically behind Al, staring down at the little sun-kissed rocks that made the pathway through the extravagant courtyard up to the large mahogany doors.

On once such occasion, Al had turned to his brother and worked up the courage to ask him why he was spending time staring at the walkway.

"It's just cobblestone," Al commented.

"I like cobblestone," Ed replied after a moment.

"That's nice... but do you have to spend so long staring at it? It's really just a bunch of rocks."

"An aesthetically pleasing bunch of rocks. Yellow is a nice colour."

Had he been able to in his clunky, yet elegant, suit of armor, Al would have arched an eyebrow. Usually, Ed was not so eccentric. Something was bothering him.

"Something is bothering you?" Al voiced his thoughts.

"Alphonse," Ed looked up and cracked a little smile, "I _like_ cobblestone."

"Here."

Ed looked up from the surprisingly large plate of noodles that he had been devouring just moments before.

" Mrr," he said with his mouth full.

The female innkeeper gave Ed a disgusted look and the went about her work at the counter. Slightly embarrassed, Ed blushed a little, and then swallowed.

_Cluck_.

"It's a chicken," Al said, holding the object closer to his face.

"I see that," Ed smirked, "And if you don't get it out of here, so will the innkeeper."

He promptly went back to shoving food down his throat, not even bothering to pause and chew. Somewhere at the back of his head, Ed was aware that people were staring at him as he continued to consume his food in such a crude manner._ Whatever_, he thought. He was hungry.

"That's it?" Al asked, almost frustrated.

"I'm hungry Al, please," Ed managed between another huge morsel.

"But it's _yellow_, and you _like_ yellow. And _I_ had to search this dreary town to find one yellow thing. Then I had to fight the farmer for a bargain."

Al continued to prattle on for what seemed like hours. Ed didn't pay much attention. Normally, he was all ears for his brother's sake. But Al just would not _stop_. He went on and on about chickens and how nice it was that he'd found a yellow chicken just for Ed, and how the only _other_ yellow thing in town was being worn by a very promiscuous young woman who had been so intoxicated when she had met Al, that the idea of offering her services to a suit of armor didn't strike her as odd. Not one bit. Al had been both awed, and extremely embarrassed.

"... and you would not _believe_ how mean he was to me! Wouldn't even let me pet the other chickens. You know how much I like-"

"Well, I'm beat," Ed leaned back and pushed his empty plate away from him, "Good night Al."

Al hung his head, defeated. Nothing could stand in the way of his brother's fierce appetite. Not even a now-forgotten yellow chicken.

"Night, Ed."

Contrary to what he told his brother every evening, Ed's nights were anything but good. But he knew that Al suffered from the nightmares of their failures as much as he did, and that kept him from saying anything. If anything, he wanted Al to come out first and talk to him about the face which stared down at him in his dreams, beckoning to them.

His only reprieve from the nightly visits from his mother or the crushing feeling when they traced another supposed lead to the Philosophers Stone all the way to a dead end, was the occasional dream that pushed its way through the nightmares.

Sometimes, Al dreamt of home. The home they used to have. Before he became encased in a metal shell. It didn't happen very often anymore. It seemed as though the farther and farther they went away from their home, the less frequent the dreams of home would come. But every now and then, Ed would awake to the sound of Al calling out to their mother.

Al's childish voice would lift from the shadows cast by the edgy metal, so much that Ed would climb out of bed to gaze down at his brother. Had he been of flesh and blood, like before, Edward imagined that there would be a pleasant smile spread across his brother's face.

Then, the older Elric would force himself back into bed and try to fall asleep before the nightmares infested Al's head again, so that he wouldn't have to wake until the screams came.

Ed's dreams were different. He never saw his mother the way he had when she was alive. No, the dreams of his mother weren't dreams at all. Those were the nightmares.

Ed dreamt of home too. A different kind of home. Not the one they had inhabited before, but the one he hoped they could have someday. Back home. With Den at his one side, a more human Alphonse at the other. Somewhere in the distance, Pinako would be complaining about how her greatest source of income – Ed and his reckless attitude – had disappeared thanks to... well, Ed and his reckless attitude. With a little help from Al. Good ol' Al. He was always ready to help.

And sometimes... sometimes at the end of the dirt road, Winry would be there. Her arms open in a very un-Winry-like stance. Waiting to embrace him. Ed shivered a little when he awoke from dreams of Winry. That scared him a little more than the nightmares. He needed to stop dreaming of Winry.

This was mostly because, dreams of Winry faded into something else most of the time. There she was, eyes taken straight from the clear blue sky, glistening with glee at his return to her. But then, when he looked at her, really looked at her, the sunny blonde hair would begin to stand out. It was a brilliant kind of blonde, with the right amount of shadow added to it, it dimmed a little into a canary yellow.

"Cobblestone," he would say to her, and she'd keep smiling, but confusion would arise in her eyes.

"The road is of dirt," she would always reply.

And at once, she would fade away, into nothing. All he could do is scream. Scream at her to come back to him. Scream how much he wanted her to just be with him sometimes. Scream how he was so tired, so very tired of all this traveling, and just wanted to go home.

Then, cobblestone.

A little cobblestone pathway would emerge in the dream. Leading him somewhere, and so he would follow it.

That's when the dreams usually ended.

"You must be hungry," Al would say the next morning, because Ed never wanted to talk after a dream, not even to acknowledge the growing sensation of emptiness in his stomach.

He needed time to think to himself. Time to memorize the way Winry looked when she smiled at him. Memorize the sparkle in her eyes, the gentle contours of her face, hoping to himself that the image would stay with him forever.

Amber cobblestone made him think of Winry. Winry made him think of home. Winry _was_ home. And that was a feeling that Ed wanted to hold onto for as long as they couldn't have that home. He was reminded of it, every time the cobblestone pathway stared up at him.

And one day, Al would know.

This had nothing to do with yellow chickens. Nothing at all.

* * *

_When you can't take anymore_

_When you're beat up and ignored,_

_Go home._

**fin.**


End file.
